


Tryst at the Ritz

by almaasi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale in Lingerie (Good Omens), Crowley Can Control Time (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demisexual Crowley (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Foreplay, Hand Feeding, Humor, Illustrated, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Making Love, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Non-Penetrative Sex, Other, Romance, Smut, Tender Sex, but with Aziraphale’s level of classiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Aziraphale nodded, and said, sweetly, “After dinner, Crowley, you and I, we’re going up to a private, luxury suite, and we’re going to make love.”Crowley blasted red wine across the table in a fine spray.(A fic in which Crowley and Aziraphale get a wiggle on, in the Biblical sense.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 643
Collections: Most Favs





	Tryst at the Ritz

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to see if I could write smut for these two, which seemed like a challenge given how utterly a/demisexual I see them. Conclusion: YEP I can. But this smut came out very different to smut I've written for other pairings. Which I find interesting. And pleasing. And I hope you like it too ♡
> 
> Beta'd by [Katie](https://crab-full-of-rocks.tumblr.com/)!

“Pickled filet of fish. Aaaaaand, one garlic bread on the side, please.”

Aziraphale sat up straight. “Oh, good Heavens, _no_.” He looked up at their waiter. “He’ll have no garlic bread. No fish. No pickled _anything_. Absolutely not. Maybe a... a cherry tomato and baby potato salad. Light olive oil. Hold the dressing. No chives or onions.”

The waiter glanced at Crowley’s bewildered expression, but when Crowley shrugged, the waiter nodded.

Once they were alone again, Crowley opened his mouth. “Should I ask?”

“Ask what.”

Crowley spread his hands, gesturing with a half-full wine glass. “Since when did you correct my orders?”

Aziraphale started to blush – but only started. He stopped immediately. Rather haughtily, he said, “It’s a special occasion.”

Crowley snuffled a laugh. “So you keep saying.” He wiggled a finger at the red tuxedo and glittery black bow tie he’d put on at Aziraphale’s behest, then turned that finger towards Aziraphale’s ivory three-piece suit, complete with a split tail. “Any chance you’re going to explain? What’s the occasion, exactly?”

Aziraphale drew a breath through his mouth. “Well.” He cleared his throat.

When he delayed his explanation, Crowley narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses and leaned onto the table, putting his wine down. “You didn’t decide it’s your birthday, did you? Not again. We did this already, _last_ summer.”

“Not... that, no,” Aziraphale said. He wore a soft, nervous smile. “See. Thing is.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “I’ll tell you in a bit.”

And by that he meant ‘_I need another twenty minutes and glass of wine to work up the courage_’. So Crowley poured him some wine, and stopped asking.

For those twenty minutes, as the lowering summer sun glazed the edge of every window pane on the other side of the dining hall, haloing Aziraphale’s hair in bronze, they talked about the usual things instead: the West End musical performance they’d just come from, how _good_ the actors were, how ridiculous it was that technical difficulties with microphones were still a thing that happened even when you paid two hundred pounds sterling for a front-row seat, and how in Shakespeare’s time, it never would’ve come down to the lead unexpectedly having to project all her lines like she was on a football field, because she would’ve been doing that all along.

Well, Aziraphale talked. Crowley slouched against the table, listening, nodding, smiling gently, and occasionally picking at his salad.

Aziraphale was halfway through his dinner, and Crowley was almost done, when out of nowhere, Aziraphale ended a sentence with “—and like I said, it’s a special night tonight, so I’ve booked us a room upstairs.”

He looked innocently at his food, then surreptitiously lifted his eyes to Crowley, who’d jerked his nose into his wine as he drew back, coughing at the base of his throat to keep his sip from going down the wrong pipe.

Crowley stared. “You. Booked a room. At the Ritz Hotel.”

“Mm-hm,” Aziraphale hummed lightly, as if it was nothing, but the strain in his throat said it wasn’t.

Crowley’s lips parted. “What, for both of us?”

“Overnight, yes.”

Crowley was perplexed. “We’ve been coming here... what, eight years? We eat here, in the restaurant. We pay. We leave, and I walk you home after dark. Wwwwhat’s different tonight? What’s wrong with going home? Did something happen to your bookshop? Again? What—”

“Oh, dear, no, nothing like that,” Aziraphale said, reaching over the table to touch Crowley’s hand. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’s good! It’s... it’s fun. It’s. Um.” Aziraphale forked the girolle mushrooms around his sauteéd filet de bœuf, putting white-plate streaks in the Bordelaise sauce. “The room is for us, later. Once we’ve eaten.”

A curious understanding crept through Crowley’s insides. He felt a flutter of hope. Then a pang of doubt. Then another flutter of hope. “No... Y-Y-Y-You don’t mean...”

Aziraphale drew in a breath, and lifted his eyes to meet Crowley’s as he said, finally, “I’d like to stay the night.”

Crowley grinned. “Heh,” he said.

He picked up his wine glass. “Right,” he said.

He set the glass to his lips. “Sure,” he said.

“Really,” Aziraphale insisted. “I’ve been curious about it for a while, and after all that’s happened between us since the Apocalypse, I do think I... Well? I think I’m ready. I think perhaps we both are.”

Crowley froze halfway through a gulp of wine, nose in the glass, eyes on his angel friend. He wasn’t serious about the implication, was he? He couldn’t be. This was... a strange joke... surely...?

More confident now, Aziraphale nodded, and said, sweetly, “After dinner, Crowley, you and I, we’re going up to a private, luxury suite, and we’re going to make love.”

Crowley blasted red wine across the table in a fine spray. Then he leapt up, hair on fire, babbling, “Ss-s-shitshitshit – angel, I didn’t mean – damndamn_damn_—” and clicking his fingers frantically as he miracled Aziraphale’s suit clean, miracled the wine glass back upright, returned the wine to the glass – and then he staggered back, breathing hard, eyes blazing with flames—

“Crowley. Crowley—” Aziraphale took Crowley firmly by both arms. He held Crowley’s panicked yellow eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath, then letting it go. Crowley sagged in his grip, whimpering slightly. His hair extinguished itself with a _pff_.

People were looking. They were whispering in awe. They’d never seen wine stains removed so efficiently. Or, for that matter, seen anyone spontaneously combust. Crowley’s gelled quiff of red hair now smoked, vaguely.

Crowley frowned and snapped his fingers, and the restaurant fell silent. A waiter poured wine but it didn’t fall. A man was part-way through a sneeze that never came. A woman poised with a fork against her lips but didn’t bite down. A dozen pairs of eyes remained stuck on the angel and the flustered demon – and then, with another snap of Crowley’s fingers, nobody looked, and nobody _had_ looked. Or at least they didn’t remember.

The wine poured. The forkful was bitten. Conversations carried on. The sneeze still didn’t come, which was frustrating.

“Crowley, I—” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and helped him back to his seat. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. I thought it was a long time coming.”

“Ih-ih-ih— Yeah. Mm-hm. It is. It was. It will be. It.” Crowley gulped. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want— Buh-b-but— Angel, are you _sure_—?”

Aziraphale sat down opposite, a gentle, warm expression like honey in his eyes. “Yes.”

Crowley relaxed a little. He stared. His eyes lowered to his wine glass, and he took the same sip he’d blasted out before. He swallowed it this time. It tasted like tablecloth.

“I just thought,” Aziraphale rolled a shoulder, getting back to his dinner, “there’s not really any reason why we _couldn’t_, anymore, is there? And I know I’d like to try. I’m aware we haven’t exactly discussed this... at _all_, beforehand. Which is why I want to impress to you now that if you have any reservations whatsoever, any doubt, any... any reason you’d prefer to wait, I want you to know, Crowley, we don’t have to do this tonight. If you need more time, you can have it. Days, weeks, months – years. You were nothing but patient with me and I promise you, unconditionally, I won’t hesitate to offer you the same courtesy.”

Crowley ate the last cherry tomato from his salad, not even noticing its acidic sting on his tongue.

“Even if,” Aziraphale said, tiptoeing around his next words, then running at them full-force, “even if you’d want to get married before we make love. I can wait until after marriage. If that’s what you’d be comfortable with.”

Crowley couldn’t decide between firstly, laughing at that idea, because he was a demon and for him to follow an arbitrary rule like ‘no sex before marriage, suckers’ was genuinely laughable, and secondly, melting into a puddle of goo because Aziraphale just said words at him that sounded remarkably close to a proposal.

“Wwwuhhgghjh,” Crowley said.

Then he shook his head. “Whannahagfg.”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.

“Www.” Crowley arranged his lips very carefully around each word. “Wanta. Mmm. Love. N’stuff. Tonight.” He gulped. “Please.”

A beautiful, radiant smile burst into existence on Aziraphale’s face. “Oh,” he cooed. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Well, in that case—” He pushed aside the remainder of his dinner, and raised a hand to summon the waiter. “No need to linger, is there?”

“Ah—” Crowley reached out. “Nnn. Wait.”

Aziraphale lowered his hand. “Hello?”

“Not too fast,” Crowley rasped, blushing. “Just. Need a f-f-few minutes.”

Aziraphale gave him the softest, sweetest look. “Of course. Dessert, my dear?”

Crowley nodded. He smiled a little.

Upon the arrival of two small dark-chocolate truffles, each encased in a chocolate shell with a solid curl of caramel on top, Aziraphale dug a tiny golden spork into his dessert, and said, ponderously, “I think, given it’s all new,” he shifted some of the truffle onto the spork, gave it a shimmy, then lifted it towards his mouth, “I suppose an act of ingress might be a bit much for the first time.” He ate his bite thoughtfully.

Crowley’s brain blanked for a moment, unsure what Aziraphale was talking about. But he found the word in his mental dictionary.

[**ingress**]  
_noun_  
1\. Going in; entering.  
2\. Permission or consent to enter.  
3\. A means or place of entrance.  
See also: Astronomy  
4\. Immersion; the obscurance of a celestial body by another.

“Oh,” Crowley whispered.

“It’s up to you, of course, but I’d certainly be more comfortable beginning with something... ah, let’s say, surface-level.”

Crowley shook and nodded his head, as he figuratively broke out in a sweat.

“But I would like the honour of unveiling your physical form,” Aziraphale said softly, as he broke away the casing of his truffle, one cracked corner at a time. He pressed his spork to the soft centre of his treat, stroking tender lines against it. “And you unveil me, in return.”

Crowley breathed, maybe.

Aziraphale gave Crowley’s dessert a glance. “You’re not eating?”

“Uh?” Crowley glanced down. “Oh. Yeah.” He picked up the truffle between his fingers and bit into it like a small apple. Goop ran down his chin, and he licked hastily, ducking low, truffle back to his plate, tongue trying to reach his chin, chocolate-sweet thumb in his mouth.

Aziraphale watched him. Slowly, he passed Crowley his napkin – but then dodged his reaching hand, instead stroking Crowley’s chin for him. Crowley stared, frozen, as Aziraphale cleaned up his mess.

“You’re not usually so flustered,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley the napkin once he was clean. “You’re not worried about later, are you?”

Crowley shook his head. He quirked up a grin. “Just. Don’t often. Y’know. Talk about sex while we’re eating.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks went a bit pink. He looked down at his pudding, caressing it with the back of his spork. “Don’t see why not. Dining together. Making love. They’re similar acts. I suppose that’s why it doesn’t seem like a big leap, does it, progressing from one intimacy to another.”

Crowley gulped wetly, breath shivering out over his lips. He squirmed forward in his chair, fingering at his pudding, chasing chocolate onto his fingertip, then sucking it into his mouth, licking his finger clean. He looked at Aziraphale, suddenly hot all over when he saw him looking back.

Crowley slowly... _slowly_ slid the finger from his mouth, and it went with a slick noise. He licked his lips after, blushing.

But he grinned, feeling a thrill because Aziraphale looked a little undone, a little less composed than before. It took the angel a number of seconds to return to his food, and even then, his eyes kept slipping back to Crowley, watching his slim hands take apart his food between thumb and finger, tongue flicked out to taste each morsel and draw it back into his mouth, sated each time, until he grew greedy for more.

“H’mmh...”

Crowley’s eyes snapped to Aziraphale, hearing that soft, wanton sigh escape him.

Aziraphale realised _he’d_ made that noise, and fought for dignity, sitting straighter, blank-faced – but it was too late: Crowley was grinning. Aziraphale well and truly had let himself slip. There was no going back now.

There was a slight darkness to Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley noticed now. And oh, how those eyes lingered.

“Do you know,” Crowley asked, slowly, teasing a piece of chocolate until it melted on his skin, “_how_ to... entertain a demon? What... mm, what dishes to serve at that private banquet you’ll share. What seasonings are best. And the core, the heart of the feast, angel, do you have any idea?”

Aziraphale held his gaze. “Is a demon much different to an angel?”

“Depends what an angel is like.”

Aziraphale glanced around. “I’ll admit, I don’t have much experience entertaining anyone. Even... myself.” He glanced down, examining his half-soft dessert. “H-How would you suggest that I... sate this particular demon? What, um. What sort of things might his corporeal form appreciate?”

Crowley rolled a shoulder. “Don’t think about... eating, a whole lot, really.”

“But you do want to.”

“Oh, yes,” Crowley assured him, with a wide grin. “With you? Oh, God, angel, _yes_.”

Aziraphale’s breath fluttered.

He gathered himself up, then tried, tentatively, “Would you prefer a long, lingering meal, or... a quick snack, say.”

“Slow,” Crowley said, without hesitation. “I mean, you wait so long for the food, seems a waste to scarf it down. Just hope it’s still hot by the end.”

“Oh, no doubt of that,” Aziraphale said with a nod. “If anything, by my research, it gets hotter towards the end. That’s how you know the end is approaching.”

A grin snuck up Crowley’s face. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale popped some more of his chocolate truffle between his lips, nodding as he softened it with his tongue. “I believe,” he said, swallowing, then taking a sip of his wine, “the best meals, and certainly the one I’m planning on having, concludes in a manner I’m sure could rightly be referred to as ‘orgasmic’.”

Crowley spluttered into his wine, but didn’t get worse than a wet nose. He dabbed himself dry, then dropped the napkin into his lap, where it was needed. “Hm!” he said with hyperactive interest, elbow on the table, staring at Aziraphale. “That so.”

“I’ve— I’ve looked forward to this,” Aziraphale admitted with a soft smile and a sideways look that swung back to Crowley. “This particular ‘meal’ with you.”

“Me too,” Crowley promised, in a whisper. “Sometimes I thought...” He wet his lips, chin down, lowering his propping hand to fiddle with the table’s edge. “I thought maybe it wouldn’t happen. And I was okay with that. But this is good. I’m... I’m happy this is happening.”

Aziraphale looked at him with absolute adoration glistening in his eyes. “You were prepared not just to wait, but to forego it altogether?”

“Angel, there’s only one way I’d be left starving,” Crowley murmured, “and that’s not by being denied some special feast – it’s without _you_.”

Aziraphale processed that, then wondered, “So you didn’t want to push me away by asking.”

“Didn’t want to rush you,” Crowley corrected. He smiled. “You’re not going anywhere, angel. I know that much.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said affectionately, pleased to be understood like that.

“Slow,” Crowley nodded. He picked up his truffle and sucked the dark sauce from its inside, pink tongue running the bottom edge, melting chocolate as it went along. “Very slow.”

“There’s often a rhythm to a good regale, I believe,” Aziraphale pointed out. “And a structure. Multi-course. You start small and work up.”

“Pff.” Crowley waved a hand. “Who needs an appetiser? Go for the good stuff first.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley, the appetiser is the best part.”

“Is it?” Crowley hesitated. “I thought dessert was.”

“Well— I suppose it’s the most memorable. But,” Aziraphale worried at his truffle, resisting collapsing what was left of it. “The first part... when you’re most hungry, when you want a reason to keep going, when it’s all new, when you’ve never—” His breath hitched, and sighed out, “Crowley, look, we’ve never so much as _kissed_, don’t you think we ought to start with that?”

Crowley’s skin prickled hot. “Oh. Kissing.” He nodded, mouth open. “Okay.”

“What did you think I meant?”

Crowley shrugged. He wasn’t actually sure. Metaphors weren’t really his bucket of bees.

“It’s called _foreplay_,” Aziraphale informed him, happily chasing after the remainders of his truffle. “And I think it’ll be very exciting.”

Crowley rested his blushing cheek on a hand, gazing at his angel with his heart afloat. “What flavour of _foreplay_ d’you like?”

Aziraphale squinted, humming as he thought.

He set his eyes on Crowley...

Then he reached over, stole what was left of Crowley’s dessert in his hand, and took it to his own mouth, placing it between his lips, sucking two fingers as he pulled them free. He kept hold of Crowley’s gaze, offering promises.

Then, while Crowley was still busy wondering what that even _meant_, and how dare he, anyway, that was _Crowley_’s truffle, but oh, how could anyone be mad when he was that damn _cute_? Aziraphale took his _own_ pudding, and offered it to Crowley over the table.

Crowley stared at the melting lump, pinched between three fingers and a thumb, pinkie finger raised.

Then he opened his mouth and leaned in, staring dazedly at Aziraphale as he closed his lips around Aziraphale’s still-wet fingers. Aziraphale’s eyes were darker than the dusklight that now cloaked the restaurant’s windows. Crowley shivered with pleasure, eyes fluttering shut.

Aziraphale pulled back, and Crowley near-collapsed on the table, catching himself with an elbow and a hand on his cheek.

“Hhmmhhh,” Crowley breathed, legs curling tight together under the tablecloth.

Okay. An exchange. Give and take. Wet fingers in soft, warm mouths. He could work with that.

It only occurred to him after he’d tossed back the last of his wine, as he was settling the bill with the waiter, not looking at the total, only at Aziraphale’s expectant smile, that actually, _this_ was the foreplay. All this seductive talk about indulgent consumption and consummation, and all along they’d been gorging on each other. And it had worked. Crowley had to take off his tuxedo jacket and hang it over one arm as they left the restaurant and headed for the hotel lobby.

Aziraphale noticed. He glanced down at Crowley’s waist a few times as they crossed the marble foyer side-by-side. “Are you...?”

Crowley blushed, chin down. “A little.”

Aziraphale looked so proud.

And that made Crowley grin.

“Ah, hello,” Aziraphale said as they came to the hotel’s front desk. “I have a reservation?”

“Of course, sir, what name would that be under?”

“Fell,” Aziraphale said. “And I have a—” he looked at Crowley, “guest. That’s allowed, isn’t it? Gosh, I should’ve checked.”

“Yes sir,” the lady smiled. She glanced at Crowley, then back to Aziraphale. “It’s allowed.”

Aziraphale handed over his credit card, then gave his address and telephone number, then pulled his passport out of pocket, having expected he’d need ID. As the desk lady checked it all over, Aziraphale’s eyes drifted to Crowley, who was gazing back, unashamed. They stared, happily lost in each other’s ocular cosmos for a while.

“Sir?”

Aziraphale was startled back to reality, snatching back his card and passport and hurrying his thanks, taking the electronic keycard he was handed. “Come along, dear.” He took Crowley by the elbow and walked him to the golden-doored elevators.

They waited for their lift with thumping hearts, and in Crowley’s case, a thumping something else. He expected his arousal to fade, now... or now... or _now_, as they stepped into the mirrored elevator, but apparently after six thousand years of being pointedly ignored, a few quiet minutes wasn’t much of a deterrent.

“Room’s on the fifth floor,” Aziraphale uttered, as the lift doors closed, and they faced them. They watched a metal arrow rotate on a semi-circle dial over the doors, sliding, too slowly, from the ground floor... to 1... to 2....

Crowley took a shaky breath in.

Still 2...

Aziraphale looked at him.

3...

Crowley looked back.

The elevator stopped.

Well, no, the elevator didn’t stop – there was no judder of the floor, no creak of machinery; it simply ceased to ascend. What stopped was time.

And what moved in that moment was Crowley. Jacket dropped, body rushed to Aziraphale’s, heads tilted, Aziraphale’s back shoved to the mirrored wall. They breathed fast and hard, hands gripping each other’s hair, mouths open but not touching, sounds of want curling from throats, little whimpers out of Aziraphale, soft grunts from Crowley.

Their thighs interlocked, Crowley pushing his desire right where Aziraphale would feel it, and feel it he did; a hand hugged around Crowley’s lower back and pulled him closer, until there was no space for air between them, only the wrinkles of their waistcoats and sharp buttons.

Aziraphale gasped, shuddering against Crowley’s lips. “Oh, my dear— Kiss me—”

Passion roiled through their corporeal forms, at _last_ falling into a kiss and practically tearing into each other, burning with desperation after an unfathomable number of years longing, pining, _aching_ for all the tender, loving moments that had come before, and then, finally, _this_, but never being sure, not feeling safe, not ready yet – all now released at once in hot gasps and nose-thrusts and sticky wet lips dragged against each other’s mouths.

And it went on, surging and mouthing and moaning quietly, getting sore, getting plump, getting comfortable.

Soon Aziraphale cuddled Crowley to him, both hands hugging his neck, while Crowley melted to Aziraphale. Kisses slowed. They breathed out in sighs. Heads tilted, then back the other way.

“Mm, angelllhhh...” Crowley drifted into another kiss, met with the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue and an eager push.

Their hearts settled, their bodies relaxing. Aziraphale rested comfortably on the golden elevator wall rather than being pinned there.

Smooches.

Nuzzles.

Pecks.

Crowley smiled, finding himself content just to be held in Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale stroked his hair, kissing his cheek, his jaw, then his ear.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale whispered, a tremor of excitement still brimming in his voice.

“Still is,” Crowley promised, proving it with a soft hump. Aziraphale cried out, eyes shut, mouth open, all of him soft in Crowley’s touch except for one part.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “Oh my goodness, you’re so _excited_.”

“Can’t help it,” Crowley whispered. “From the feel of things, neither can you. I just keep... thinking, about what we’re gonna do. ‘S a stimulating thought, angel. Really... mm. Motivating.”

Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks shone a little more as he grinned. “P-Perhaps,” he breathed, “we ought to go somewhere we can lie down.”

Crowley nodded. The lift kept moving, because it had never stopped.

They held hands, facing the doors, chests still together as they watched the numbers climb.

3...

Aziraphale gave Crowley’s neck a few sucking kisses just to pass the time. The sensation was alarming, but Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, smiled, and tilted his head to offer more of his neck.

4...

5.

With a ding and a clank, the doors rolled open.

“Come on,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s fluffy hair, kissing once, then sweeping his jacket off the floor and leading his friend down the hallway. “Where’s that keycard, then?”

Aziraphale found the door to their room, and pushed the keycard to the reader by the side of it. With a blee-bloop, the door unlocked, and they entered – Aziraphale first, Crowley inches behind, hands interlocked.

“Oop,” Aziraphale said, finding their luxury suite in darkness. He turned on a light. He frowned. “Hm.”

Crowley had stayed in many fancy hotels in his time, and this wasn’t the fanciest, but it was lavish. It was definitely more Aziraphale’s style than his, with a perfect, pink pinstriped bed, gold filigree on all the walls, a beige carpet, plus a white vanity with a wall-height mirror, and a chair with oval cushions on the back and the seat. The bedside tables had bunches of white flowers on them, and the heavy curtains were open to London’s sweltering sunset, but draped with semi-transparent fabric for privacy.

“Oh, this won’t do at _all_,” Aziraphale said.

“It won’t?” Crowley asked.

“No,” Aziraphale said, wrenching off his tailcoat, looking cross. He put the coat on the bed, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and said, forthrightly, “You get comfortable, my dear, I’ll just be having a little _word_ with the staff.”

Crowley couldn’t imagine what was wrong with the room. He turned to ask, but Aziraphale was already gone, door closed behind him.

“Right.” Crowley looked around. “Well then.”

Not knowing how long Aziraphale would be, Crowley decided that he’d take longer than expected, as he always did. So, banking on the assumption that he’d be at least twenty minutes, Crowley went to draw the curtains shut – peeking out once to admire the burnt orange sky as it doomed itself to purple – then began to undress, sequin bowtie first, then each piece of his tuxedo came off, tossed to the bed.

He paced into the spacious brown-tiled ensuite bathroom, turned on the light (soft and warm, good ambience for seventeenth-century portraits), put the plug in the bath, and turned the hot faucet up to full blast.

After a certain incident in Hell, Aziraphale once mentioned he preferred showers these days. But Crowley was a fan of baths, always had been, and he wasn’t letting his former supervisors remove one of the most perfect joys in his life and turn this good planet into a bubble-free nightmare.

The bath filled with water that was the exact correct temperature (forty-two degrees Celsius) and the exact correct depth (no cold nipples allowed), and obviously had bubbles, because baths were meant to have bubbles. Crowley turned off the tap after thirty seconds, convinced that nobody waited longer than that for anything, not unless it was dinner, the Apocalypse, or a cute angel.

He stripped down completely, and stepped into the full bath, happy as he plunged between bubbles and hot water. He sighed all his breath out, eyes shut. He took his sunglasses off, folded them without looking, and waved them around until a surface obediently materialised.

Time passed. Or maybe it didn’t. Whether or not he paused time to enjoy his bath for longer was immaterial.

He had some thinking to do, was the point.

Well, not a lot of thinking.

Since Aziraphale had first acquired a computer, the angel had learned about, feared, and detested this phenomenon he called the Blue Screen of Death. Upon describing it to Crowley, Crowley has surmised that it was a situation in which the computer did not want to go, refused to respond, and made its protest very clear as it abdicated itself from all purposeful functionality. To Crowley this visual image seemed familiar, and pleasant, as it was a phase of existence which he aspired to much of the time. He found that kind of peace in bathtubs, where he was once sure a computer would almost certainly feel the same peace.

Anyone else but Crowley would’ve called it meditating.

Crowley was meditating.

(Also, no, computers did not enjoy baths. He only needed to find that out once.)

The problem with meditating – at least, the kind Crowley was currently doing – was that once he was done, he felt calmer, and more ready to handle a monumentally gargantuan life change – like, for example, using certain human-inspired body parts for their God-intended purpose for the first time ever in order to make love to the friend he’d pined after for six thousand years – but regardless of the fact he’d braced for impact, he had not actually _addressed_ the thing he’d needed to think about.

In this particular case, he stepped out of the bath and wrapped himself in a giant pink towel, just as stunned about this evening’s events as when he stepped in.

Aziraphale wanted to _sleep_ with him.

Kiss.

Cuddle? Oh, that could be nice.

Touch each other. Naked.

Get a wiggle on, in the Biblical sense.

Crowley stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Short, now-wet hair drooped on his forehead. Tired snake eyes stared into themselves. Skinny white noodle arms hung helplessly at his sides.

After six thousand years trying to decide how he liked to look, he wasn’t convinced there was any one way he liked best. But there was something he was certain of: if there would be wiggling, Aziraphale deserved something to hold onto.

So Crowley’s hair dried and grew long to his shoulders. It put a little wave into itself so it looked nice. He smiled.

Yup.

Done. The bath helped.

He turned away and left the bathroom, towel wrapped around all the important bits, tucked under his armpits. He went to the bed, and sat at the foot of it, looking at the door, waiting for it to open.

He crossed his legs at the ankle.

He spread his feet wide.

He lay back, hands in his hair, looking like the pictures he sometimes peeked at for fashion inspiration. Then he got up, growling, and tossed down the towel. Sat on the bed again. Legs open. No! Legs twisted. No.

Blushing even in his own company, Crowley got up and picked up the towel, hugging it to his front. Aziraphale wanted to undress him, he remembered that much.

But surely a tuxedo was overkill if they’d end up naked anyway, no?

Regardless, Crowley spent a few minutes putting his tuxedo back on. Buttoned waistcoat, bow tie, socks, shoes, cufflinks, and all. He kept his watch off, though. Too fiddly.

Then he held the towel up, wondering what to do with it—

The door opened and Aziraphale entered with someone behind him.

“Oi!” Crowley covered himself with the towel. “Don’t you people knock?”

“So sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale said, as a hotel staff member pushed in a wheeled golden cart topped with a champagne bucket and a silver cloche. Aziraphale was still giving Crowley a discerning look, as if wondering what modesty a damp towel could possibly provide when Crowley was already wearing an entire tuxedo. It was the _principle_ of the thing, Crowley thought.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said to the staffer, as the wheeled tray was stationed by the wall, two feet from the bed’s left side.

“Have a good evening, sirs.” The staff member left, and Aziraphale shut the door with one hand. The other hand, Crowley realised, was holding a velvet bag with golden tassel ties.

“I had requested these,” Aziraphale explained, sinking his hand into the bag. “Apparently there was a mix-up with which room I wanted them sent to, given I – well, I booked two rooms, in case you... um.”

“In case I turned you down,” Crowley finished, dropping the towel to his feet, revealing his (hopefully sexy) tuxedo-clad figure.

“Thankfully there’s no need for the other room,” Aziraphale said, eyeing Crowley appreciatively, then lifting out a handful of something red from the bag. He tossed it at the bed, and the handful broke apart, fluttering and plopping down in pieces.

As Crowley came up to Aziraphale’s side, he realised they were rose petals. He started to grin.

“Do you want to put some down?” Aziraphale asked, offering Crowley the bag.

Crowley scooped out a cool, softly-perfumed lump of petals, and tossed them underhand towards the bed, and they fell apart, scattering the pinstriped sheets. The faint aroma tinted the air pleasantly.

Soon Aziraphale shook out the bag, and lay it, empty, beside the silver cloche and the champagne bucket.

“What’s that for?” Crowley asked, pointing at the cart.

“These?” Aziraphale said, of the champagne and the covered food. “They’re for... after.” He turned away from the cart, wearing a shy smile.

“Right,” he said, softly, coming up to Crowley, a hand pressing to his middle. He looked at him. “I suppose this is it, then?”

Crowley’s yellow snake eyes gazed into each of Aziraphale’s eyes in turn. “S’pose. Do we just... kiss?”

Aziraphale rolled a shoulder. “I imagine so.” A wisp of breath fell from his plump lips. He inched closer. Closer...

“Wait,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley waited.

“I,” Aziraphale said. His breath shook. “I just want to tell you something first. Before we kiss.” He smiled with so much charm that it made him sparkle. “I _adore_ you, Crowley. With all the power vested in my being. And I don’t think I need to prove it. But tonight, my dear, I would like to show you...” he held Crowley’s jaw, “just... how much.” He gave the tip of his nose a tender kiss.

Crowley was stunned for a moment, heart fluttering madly. “Ihhmhmj.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Quite.”

“Nnn-n-n. I. I love.” Crowley gulped. “You ‘zz well. A lot. Like. Like. Too much.”

Aziraphale was clearly honoured. If he’d sparkled before, he practically glowed now.

Unable to wait another moment, Crowley tilted his head and nosed down, lips meeting Aziraphale’s for the briefest, softest kiss. A long breath eased from Aziraphale, warm on Crowley’s chin, and a hand, a careful hand, snuck up to hold the back of Crowley’s neck. The second and third kisses deepened in nudges, pulses of contact turning to pushes, tongue tips mapping the seams of each other’s mouths, then breaching borders, breaths drawn in, mouths wide open, heads turning the other way—

“Mm—” Aziraphale moaned quietly into a particularly firm kiss, both his hands combing upwards into Crowley’s long hair, scrunching it from the roots. “Mmm.”

Crowley purred deep in his throat, head twisted where Aziraphale turned him, hands on the angel’s waist, sliding up, wrinkling his waistcoat...

“Mmm’d’you want to start?” Aziraphale murmured, pulling back enough that their eyes could meet, dark and tender. “Undressing me, I mean.”

Crowley’s lips bobbed apart. “Sure, but, I mean, depends if _you_ want—”

Aziraphale dragged Crowley’s hand to the buttons of his waistcoat, plunging back into a kiss as he guided Crowley’s fingers to undo a button.

Crowley got the hang of it quickly, but by the third button up, he was flushing hot, weak-kneed, forcing himself to keep from slumping to the floor for the sake of these buttons. Taking off Aziraphale’s waistcoat had seemed like a devilishly forbidden thing up until this very moment, and now, as his fingertips stroked up Aziraphale’s warm middle, white fabric all that stood between his palm and his best friend’s heart, he tingled, head to toe, and five feet to either side of his physical form, because he was not only _allowed_ to do this, but was being encouraged. And it was overwhelming.

“Hmmzirahh,” Crowley whispered, as Aziraphale cradled his head and gave the side of his lips a few smiley smooches. “Hnh— Auhh—”

“Whoops,” Aziraphale said, catching Crowley by the elbows as he sank down. “Perhaps you’d better sit.”

Crowley flopped back onto the bed, whimpering quietly. An internal Blue Screen of Death was one thing, but what he currently experienced was more like a Flashing Rainbow Screen of Oh My God He Kisses So Nice and He’s Touching Me and I Was In No Way Prepared For All These Kisses When I Left The Flat Today.

Aziraphale rested his torso up over Crowley’s, leaning over the bed with his hands pressing the mattress. He peered down at Crowley, smiling. “Would you like me to unclothe you?” he asked, soft as a whisper.

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale leaned down to kiss Crowley’s cheek, then traced a line of affections down his jaw, fingers finding his bow tie, and starting there.

“I love your new hair,” Aziraphale said, as the bow tie came off, and was lost, and Crowley waistcoat was next to be fiddled with. “And the rest of you, of course.”

Crowley grinned, dazed by the beauty above him. Aziraphale’s head was caught in a halo of gold from all the lampshades around the room – yet nothing blinded Crowley from above, which he was grateful for, given he suspected he’d be looking at the ceiling a lot tonight. His hands skimmed Aziraphale’s shoulders and upper arms, mesmerised by his softness. They’d been so close for so long but they so rarely touched. For a year now they’d been holding hands, but this—? This was different.

“Hnnn,” Crowley groaned, breathless as Aziraphale untucked his black shirt from his trousers. “Angel.” He sank his hand into Aziraphale’s curly hair. “Mm love you.”

Aziraphale’s smile was glorious as a sunrise, bright lights in his eyes. “Oh, my darling, I love you too. So, so much.” He leaned down and shut his eyes, resting his forehead on Crowley’s. “More than I’ll ever find words for.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and gave him a hug.

Aziraphale relaxed, sinking heavily over Crowley, then rolling to rest beside him.

They held each other, cuddling, gazing into each other’s eyes. Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s hair, enjoying its softness, while Aziraphale thumbed at Crowley’s chin and lips, then slid fingertips to caress his cheek... After a moment, Crowley realised he was touching the snake tattoo.

With a growing smile, Crowley worked up some strength, and rolled closer, head up, nosing against Aziraphale to give him a slow kiss.

Eyes shut. Rocking, smooching...

And then simply pressing, breathing out.

A dextrous hand began to pluck Aziraphale’s shirt undone, and oh! such a thrill flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes when he realised Crowley was undressing him. His breath shook, his body shifted, wanting to get further onto the bed.

Shirt unbuttoned but hanging closed, Aziraphale left Crowley for a moment to slink to the middle of the bed, then reached back, taking Crowley by the hand and helping him crawl closer too.

They sat up, almost side-by-side, almost facing each other, their legs tangled. Crowley took off his own waistcoat, but let Aziraphale brush the open shirt from his shoulders, revealing his navy-blue union suit.

Under his own shirt, Aziraphale wore something strappy and white, each strap connected, with a gold hoop making a heart on his chest. Crowley fingered it. “What’s thisss?” he asked, appreciatively.

  


  
Aziraphale shrugged bashfully. “Just something pretty for the occasion.”

Crowley smiled. “It’s _lingerie_.”

“If you say so.”

“It is.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

Ugh, Crowley thought, affectionately. Aziraphale knew full-well what he was wearing. He’d probably had it tailor-made, because he did that with clothes. That innocent yet sly look in the angel’s eyes was even more exciting than the lingerie itself. And, frankly, he probably knew _that_, too. Crowley loved him so much it made him dizzy.

Crowley grinned, gave Aziraphale a nose boop, then left him be, lying himself back, arms relaxed above him, body prostrate for his own undoing.

Aziraphale realised it was his turn: he sat close, palm dipping down Crowley’s chest, his abdomen...

“Ready?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. He bit his lip, watching Aziraphale blush as he undid Crowley’s trousers.

“Ahh,” Aziraphale sighed, curious eyes examining the thick line tenting Crowley’s tight underclothes. “Okay.” He let out a slow, measured breath, and began wriggling Crowley’s trousers down for him.

“Is this shape all right?” Crowley asked quietly. “I can change if you want.”

Aziraphale looked at him fast, but kindly. “Don’t even dream of it, Crowley.” He leaned down and gave Crowley a smooch. “Unless...?” He pulled back, asking, “Unless you want to change?”

Crowley thought about it. He looked down at the insistent tension that had risen between his upper thighs. Then he plopped his head back to the rose petals, and shook his head.

Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley felt his feet swept by the warm air of the hotel room, each sole bared one by one as Aziraphale divested him of his shoes, socks, then trousers. All toppled to the carpet. Aziraphale returned to the bed, but shifted about, unsure how to lie.

Now wearing just his union suit, Crowley rolled to Aziraphale, hesitated, then straddled his waist.

“Oh!” Aziraphale grinned. “Hello, my dear.”

“Hey.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands and slicked his fingers up each palm, easing the backs of the angel’s hands to the bed. He bent, and kissed Aziraphale’s neck a few times, grinning when the contact elicited a soft cry of pleasure.

He let go, though. And, while Aziraphale was busy sinking his hands into Crowley’s hair, Crowley lowered his own hands, unbuttoning Aziraphale’s off-white suit pants, fingering them down, then pinching them off by their pockets. He had to crawl back and stand once more on the carpet to denude him properly, pulling off shoes without unlacing them, stretching off socks, then bristling leg hair as he took off Aziraphale’s trousers – but once that was done, he pounced, laughing, kneeling on hands and knees over his lover. Lord Almighty, Aziraphale looked utterly gorgeous in that lingerie, which crossed his back and hips, a tidy V of white covering his crotch. There was a distinctive bulge in that fabric, but Crowley tried not to look yet.

Aziraphale took Crowley by the waist and they rolled together, yelping in exhilaration, then practically giggling. They pushed back and forth, flumping to the bed, casting petals here and there, kicking and squirming closer for kisses—

“Hmm. Hmmm,” Crowley groaned, as their lips smacked and their hearts pounded, hands on each other’s face. “Angel. Mm.”

Once he lay down on his side, Aziraphale’s hands pressed tight to Crowley’s back, drawn up either side of his spine.

Crowley’s breath hitched. “I-I— I want?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale nuzzled his heart. “Say the word and you’ll have it.”

“Want.” Crowley gulped. He scrabbled a helpless paw at Aziraphale’s middle. “Touches.” He peeked between his lashes with one yellow eye. “Please.”

Aziraphale’s hand snuck between their bodies, flat to Crowley’s front, running up his chest, wrinkling the navy fabric... then down... eyes questioning. “There?” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley wet his lips. “Down a bit.”

Aziraphale’s hand touched Crowley’s hip. “Better?”

“Inwards a bit.”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “How’s this?”

Crowley squirmed, realising he was being teased. Aziraphale’s hand rested just above his arousal but wouldn’t touch it. “Hnnngh.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “All right, my dear, I—” They both gasped as Aziraphale’s palm stroked over Crowley’s rise. Their eyes locked, pupils dilated, lips parted and wet. “Oh...”

Crowley fell onto his back and spread his legs just a little. “A-Ah?” Flashes of heat rose in him; he scrunched the bedsheets in fists, a rose petal crushed in one palm. “Angel. Oh. Ouhh—”

He shut his eyes, blissed out.

Aziraphale snuggled against him, cheek on Crowley’s shoulder, hand still tucked between his legs. He stroked over the bulge, giving a little pressure.

“Hhm.” Crowley swallowed, hips turning of their own accord, trying to push into Aziraphale’s hand. “Ffffeels good. Weird. Buhhh. Hhnhnhh good. Reallyreally aaaah?” He started to pant, a hand moving to press Aziraphale’s down harder. “Mm. Mmhhm.”

He turned his head, dizzy eyes finding Aziraphale’s gaze and holding it. Then, with a dastardly grin, Crowley launched his torso up onto one elbow, rolling to loom over Aziraphale. He gave his chest a rub, thumbing his way over the heart-shaped straps and gold hoops, down Aziraphale’s soft middle, until...

“Oh...” Aziraphale’s tender gaze grew softer as he took Crowley’s wrist, then slid his fingers over the back of Crowley’s exploring hand, travelling with him as they mapped out the land, two of Crowley’s fingers descending the valley between Aziraphale’s thighs, finding a semi-firm rise there. A half-minute of stroking with just their entwined fingers left Aziraphale shaking, helpless little sounds floating from the back of his throat, the look in his eyes more intense than ever before.

Crowley started to kiss him, free hand cradling his cheek. He touched that sensitive spot below as he kissed, and, to his surprise, started to feel something wet and warm easing through the fabric of Aziraphale’s lingerie.

Crowley broke the kiss to peek, but couldn’t see anything.

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “I want to be naked. And I want to look at you. All of you.”

“‘Kay,” Crowley whispered, drawing back his hand, his entire body prickling with anticipation. As Aziraphale sat up to untangle the straps that bound him, Crowley sat up too, chancing a quick sniff at his fingers, but didn’t find the scent unpleasant. He almost licked, then decided against it. He turned his attention to taking off his underwear, pulling both shoulder straps to his elbows, then wiggling the whole thing off down his thighs. He flung the union suit across the room with a kick of his toes.

He turned back, and stung all over with excitement when he saw Aziraphale was naked.

He sat, poised, pretty, and plump, his arms around his legs, hugging himself, his gaze set fondly on Crowley. Oh, that darling blush on the angel’s cheeks, it was almost too much to bear. Crowley sank towards him, lips meeting, hands meeting, fingers interlocking, bodies colliding – they fell back together with a thump, and Aziraphale smiled because some petals had jumped up to rest on his shoulders. Crowley brushed them away with his nose, replacing them with kisses.

As the physical affections came undemanding and unerring, Aziraphale slowly grew more comfortable with his nudity, and spread his knees apart, leaving room for Crowley between them. Crowley still craned in from the side, but with one hand balancing his weight just to the side of Aziraphale’s left hip, he snuck into place, looking down at the love of his life with utter reverence.

“Wh,” Crowley started, licking his lips as he got settled, laying his body down on Aziraphale’s, comforted by warm hands on his shoulders, stroking his hair. “What do we do, exactly?”

“Whatever we like,” Aziraphale promised. “I think we finished the foreplay when you lay down here.” His smile was ethereal, in the best way. “We’re making love now.”

Crowley’s grin spread up his cheek, lopsided. “Angel, we’re hardly _making_ it.” He nuzzled Aziraphale’s cheek, kissed him, then whispered, “We have it already.”

Aziraphale cooed, cuddling Crowley’s head and putting kisses on his forehead, then the bridge of his nose as Crowley lifted his eyes to him. “Then we’re celebrating it,” Aziraphale said, curling one soft and fuzzy leg over and around Crowley’s.

Crowley shuddered, mouth open, finding himself nudging his hips against Aziraphale. They both held tight to each other, scrabbling for hands to hold, as they realised simultaneously how good this was about to feel, as a hesitant nudging turned to a push.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gushed, eyelids fluttering. He tilted his head back, eyes shut. “Ah-UHh.”

Crowley nodded, panting, breaking his pattern to squirm closer, higher, chest to chest, middle to middle, arousals snug between their bodies. “Th-That feels. Amazing. _Uah_, it’sss strange. But.”

“But incredible,” Aziraphale agreed, stroking through Crowley’s hair and changing his parting so it all waterfalled over one shoulder, leaving one side of his neck bare for kisses. Azirapale brought Crowley down, and caressed him a dozen different ways, sucking his neck, breathing hot there, dragging his teeth and the very tip of his tongue...

“Aauhghhh,” Crowley moaned, neck long, blaring his sound towards the bed’s headboard. “Aaangel... Ouhhh...”

“Oh, my dear, what a _noise_,” Aziraphale smiled.

“You,” Crowley panted. “You gotta feel it. Look.” He snuggled down, gripping a handful of Aziraphale’s hair and turning his head to the side, mouth sealing to his neck, sucking, kissing, nibbling. “Mm. Mmm. Oh, it’s so good. Hmm. Hmm.”

Aziraphale shivered. “Mmm, Crowley. Crowlehyhh...” A trembling hand touched Crowley’s lower back, stroking. “_Oahhh_.”

Crowley snapped a hand to Aziraphale’s thigh, dragging it up a bit; he changed up his pushes, now thrusting slow and long and deep, and Aziraphale sobbed with a rising tone like he was about to sneeze, but just keened, crying out, eyes shut, calling Crowley’s name.

“Good, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded frantically. “Please, pl— Crowley— Oh, more. More—”

Crowley lavished his neck and shoulders with kisses, hands scooping through his curls, tongue tracking the length of Aziraphale’s neck and the soft lobe of his ear. He licked sigils behind that ear, and took the lobe and dragged it until it pinged back, and Aziraphale kept on moaning, losing every last scrap of the composure he valued so much. And he begged wordlessly for Crowley to take the rest, to leave him with nothing, no hesitancy, no fear, no shame.

It wasn’t possible to hold back now, not for Aziraphale, and not for Crowley. They surged on, curled into each other, hands grasping, lips meeting and breaking apart, breaths searing hot and rich with desperate, wanton sounds.

Without warning Aziraphale turned them both over and pressed Crowley’s back into the bed, hands slammed into the mattress. At once Crowley was torn apart with deep, rolling kisses and furious breaths. He had been on top until now, and he’d thought that was enjoyable, but until this moment, as Aziraphale grasped his hip and his hand and started to _push_ against him, with all his weight and a measured pace, static shocks of pleasure began to strike Crowley from the inside out, eliciting involuntary yelps, and a few gasped laughs – he simply hadn’t known, he’d never have _imagined_ how impossibly gratifying it was to be touched, to be pressed against by the one he loved, and not have to think about what would happen because of it. He embraced the ineffability of it all, the not-knowing, as it was a dauntless, loving kind.

Their mutual trust was never in question tonight – but here was a new intimacy. They moved beyond trusting each other to touch correctly, to find pleasure, or show each other reassurance, and instead transcended the need for trust, as it was absolute.

They held each other, looked into each other’s eyes, and _loved_.

Crowley’s smile shook on his lips, as the lights in Aziraphale’s hair shimmered like the sun on rippled water. If Crowley wept, even for a single second, it was only out of overwhelming ecstasy. He grinned through it, and chuckled joyously through the rest, cuddling Aziraphale, accepting every one of his elated kisses, on his nose, cheeks, ears, forehead, eyelids.

They tried to go slow, and perhaps they did.

Perhaps Crowley sped up the heartbeat of universe so it seemed like they made love all night. Perhaps. He wasn’t really sure _what_ he did, given that he did it accidentally, amidst all the indescribable mind-blowing rapture mixed in with lovely, soft cuddles.

Four hours – or four minutes – passed unhurriedly, their souls engaged in exquisite communion, when Aziraphale’s desperate gasps against Crowley’s neck turned short, each breath accompanied by a whimper or a delicate grunt, kisses less frequent as he fought just to keep moving.

“Getting,” he panted, a flash of a smile across his face as he gazed down at Crowley, “hotter.”

And, indeed, he was blazing. Darkness surrounded the world outside their private embrace, yet the sun had risen inside Aziraphale. Although no human would have seen it, he was blinding in Crowley’s vision. All these years wearing sunglasses and Crowley didn’t have them when he really needed them.

But, he’d happily go blind. He watched as Aziraphale’s eternal power collapsed towards an all-consuming core, as he cried out, the desperation in his eyes turning to shock – he stared at Crowley, held his eyes – as the sun inside him went supernova.

“_Crowley_—”

Aziraphale burst with heat. Body gold. Eyes blazing white. A second-hand glow of solace flooded Crowley’s body as he held his friend tight, embracing without letting go.

Crowley felt that mighty cosmic event fritter away as Aziraphale shuddered, taking careful breaths, blinking away the light, holding Crowley’s eyes with undeterred passion. And then, moments later, Crowley realised something very human had occurred to Aziraphale’s body as well. He glanced low, then back up.

Aziraphale gave a shy grin, eyes lowering to Crowley’s lips.

They kissed, relaxing into the bed. Crowley was intrigued to find all the strength had gone out of Aziraphale, that his kisses were languid, his arms draped around Crowley’s neck to rest.

“Was it beautiful, angel?” came a greedy whisper against Aziraphale’s neck. “Promise me it was.”

“Was... absolutely... spec..._tacular_,” Aziraphale breathed, scrunching a hand in Crowley’s hair. He could barely keep his eyes open, and needed a minute to rest. Crowley moved slower, and slower, and soon just lay with his love, cradling one another, catching their breath.

Eventually, with a gulp, Aziraphale recovered enough to open his eyes. They held each other’s gaze for a bit, sharing smiles. Crowley’s heart seemed fit to burst, _pained_ by how much he loved his angel. Even if they quit making love now, this moment, this very _moment_ was already among the great pinnacles of Crowley’s life. Here it was: Aziraphale, relaxed in his arms, satisfied by Crowley’s intimate care. Crowley had waited so long for this experience – and it was just as perfect as he’d wished for.

But, only seconds after he’d thought that, Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s chin with a crooked finger, and said, kindly, “Your turn?”

A swoop of excitement stole through Crowley. He grinned, then nodded eagerly.

“All right.” Aziraphale eased himself up, and lay Crowley back.

As he looked down at Crowley, his eyes shone with both satisfaction and anticipation; he now comprehended the gift he was about to give Crowley, but Crowley knew of climax only through observation, and after seeing what it did to an angel, he was a little scared.

Over six thousand years had gone by. Crowley had been waiting, waiting, learning about the sweet, carnal pleasures humans could experience, wondering on occasion if he might want to try it someday, then deciding he did want to – but waiting, waiting, _waiting_, because if it ever was to happen, he wanted his first time to be with Aziraphale. And every time henceforth.

At last. Here they were.

They fell back into an easy rhythm, but not one of thrusting or pushing, but of holding. Aziraphale supported Crowley’s head with both hands on his cheeks, little fingers behind his ears, heads tilted for deep, pulsating kisses. They pushed into it this time, tongues tasting a foreign yet familiar palate, hooked behind each other’s teeth. Soon their breaths synchronised, and stayed in sync while Crowley rubbed up and down Aziraphale’s sides with his fingertips, pleased by the smoothness of his skin. God only knew how much moisturiser he’d used in the weeks leading up to tonight.

One confident, slow hand left Crowley’s face, holding his throat, his neck, his heartbeat in a soft palm.

“Dear,” Aziraphale whispered, lips on lips. “Might I use my hand?”

Crowley inched back, head retracting into the plush bedcovers. “Hm? Like how?”

Aziraphale’s smile shivered, breath caught. “Like... this?”

Crowley’s mouth opened, a wash of pleasure drowning him for an instant, blind and deaf and breathless. He felt every one of Aziraphale’s fingers curled around his shape, firm grip taking a curious, slow drag upward—

“AAuh—” Crowley surged in the bed, claws gripping Aziraphale’s arms. “Aah— Ah— Ah—”

“Do you want more?” Aziraphale asked, a tang to his sweetness – he already knew the answer.

Crowley nodded, huffing for breath.

“What if I squeeze?” Aziraphale purred into Crowley’s ear, doing with his hand what his voice promised up above. “Do you like that?”

Crowley whimpered, nodding. He felt something hot and wet seep from him and smear over Aziraphale’s hand, but being this enthralled by the way he was touched and held and cared for, he didn’t stoop to feeling embarrassed. An angel was doing gorgeous, sinful things to him and he’d never been more in love.

“_Oh_,” Aziraphale crooned, all his attention on Crowley’s face. “How unspeakably beautiful you are, my dear. I can see you coming undone. You fall apart so prettily.”

“Ahh— Hmm. Hmm. Mm.” Crowley fought to keep his eyes open, gazing helplessly into Aziraphale’s kind expression. “Love you. L’hhm. Always have. Alwayshh—”

“I know,” Aziraphale whispered, free hand stroking Crowley’s hair back. “I love you too, Crowley.”

Crowley panted and whimpered and cried out softly, writhing into Aziraphale’s hand, pushing himself into the grip of his slick fingers, holding him close all the while.

Their lips met, as did their hearts; Crowley sighed and sobbed and tangled his knuckles around white curls, between the fingers of Aziraphale’s free hand; they held on, pushing and pulling and falling apart in tandem.

“You’re shaking,” Aziraphale observed, lifting his head just an inch, hot breaths puffed over sore mouths. “Shivering.”

“Ff-f,” Crowley gulped. “‘S amazing. ‘S _so_ good, angel. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. Don’tshhhh—”

He shut his eyes, keening low, relaxing and tensing and tipping his head back. “Ah— Aaaa... Angel. Angel. It’s— Oh, shhh—” He gripped Aziraphale’s hand too tightly, trusting him completely. His physical form was on the edge of a precipice, his back to a vertical drop, leaning into a freefall – and all he had was Aziraphale’s assurance that he’d be safe at the bottom. He knew he would be.

“That’s it,” Aziraphale whispered, kissing Crowley. “Oh, my darling, just let it happen, it’ll be wonderful, I promise, I promise—”

“I know. I know I know I know—”

They kissed deeply, breathing hard in a rush, nudging and twisting and sinking open-mouthed into each other, growling at the backs of throats and cooing at the front.

Aziraphale’s hand worked faster instinctively, as Crowley was growing more desperate for release; he begged in moans, and whimpered in broken words, seeking Aziraphale’s gaze and finding it...

“Angel,” he breathed.

He sucked in a gasp of surprise: a little firework went ‘pop’ all over, kinda squelchy and colourful. He laughed a little, lying back, feeling himself burn, infra-black swirling behind his eyes. He groaned, slurring, “Hmmmzzziraphaaaale...”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said close by, with warmth in his voice and heat enshrouding Crowley’s body. The pleasure pulsated for a number of seconds, _hot_ and _hot_ and _hot_... and then began to fade, and it was almost a relief to feel coolness on his skin again.

“There,” Aziraphale said, and it sounded like praise. “All done. Was that nice?”

Crowley nodded, pleased and dizzy and trembly. “‘Nice’ is... hhh’one word for it.” He licked his lips, taking a breath, then letting it go through narrowed lips. He peeked out at Aziraphale, who peered down adoringly.

Aziraphale drew in one deep, deep breath through his nose, held it, then sighed it out with a smile and a happy, satisfied noise. He glanced down, and pouted, still smiling. “Ooh. Made a little mess, it seems.”

Crowley didn’t look. He let Aziraphale miracle the stickiness all away, feeling less weird once it was gone. Sex was such an odd thing to do. The air around them still smelled a bit peculiar, although the very same miasma felt cosy and loving.

After a beat of thought, Crowley screwed up his face in a derisive smile, and rasped, “Angel, why on _Earth_ would two immortal beings with no genders, no current intent or ability to reproduce, and matching binary physical forms even _consider_ doing this? Mating. Like dolphins. On dry land. Turtles, essentially, because I shall continue to insist dolphins _don’t_ mate out of water. Why are we being turtles?”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened, then shut.

“I just mean,” Crowley flung a hand around, then sank it into his mussed hair, staring blankly at the ambient-light-draped ceiling, “Did we do this purely for pleasure? Mutual pleasure?” He glanced at Aziraphale. “I suppose... we _do_ do a lot of things just because they feel good... don’t we?”

Aziraphale smiled, rolling a shoulder. “I feel like it brought us closer.”

Crowley sniffed. “Yeaaah. But. We were already close. I mean, we wouldn’t have done this at all unless we were already close.”

Aziraphale pondered. He kept pondering as he moved towards the head of the bed, pulled back the blankets, propped up the pillows, shooed away some rose petals, then leaned down the bed to help Crowley join him, until their bare legs touched under the body-warm sheets, arms wrapped around each other.

They gazed into each other’s eyes, slow and carefree.

“You know, I don’t think this _was_ inevitable, angel,” Crowley said. “You said it was ‘about time’, right? Something like that. Implying it’s a logical progression after however many years of dinner dates and bombing churches full of Nazis. Saving the world together, going off on our own, all’a that. But.” He wet his lips. “Naaah. I think I made a choice, and then _you_ made a choice. I think we both wanted to make an effort to try this, separately, individually, for reasons besides it being ‘inevitable’.”

Aziraphale kept on smiling. “What was your reason?”

Crowley lowered his eyes to Aziraphale’s chest, a fingertip swirling over his heart. He shrugged. “Yoruhght,” he said.

“Pardon?”

Crowley tutted.

“Don’t tease me, my dear,” Aziraphale purred invitingly, snuggling so close their noses touched. “Tell me?”

Crowley pouted. “You’re— You’re insufferably _cute_. There, angel, are you happy?”

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh-ho. _Cute_, am I?”

“You’ve spent six thousand years getting progressively cuter, and it’s just rude, frankly,” Crowley said matter-of-factly. “And you smell _offensively_ pleasant. I’m offended. Constantly.” He folded his arms. “And you kiss exactly as well as I imagined, and you’re even more gorgeous in lingerie than in my wildest dreams, and – and after six thousand years, angel, even I couldn’t tell you how many dreams there were, only how wild they got. So when I say imagination pales compared to the real thing—” His breath shuddered, looking deeply into Aziraphale’s adoring eyes. “Aziraphale, I damn well _mean_ it. I never wanted anyone but you.”

Aziraphale wrapped Crowley in a close, somewhat emotional cuddle, kissing his shoulder.

Crowley unwound his arms, and embraced him in return, eyes shut, relaxing as he smiled.

“And you?” Crowley asked, stroking a thumb back and forth against the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. “Why did you...?”

Aziraphale swelled with a thoughtful breath. “Hm.” He nuzzled against Crowley’s shoulder. “I meant what I said at dinner. It doesn’t – _didn’t_ – seem like a big jump from dinner to lovemaking. It did feel inevitable for me. Every day...” he pulled back, meeting Crowley’s eyes, “as the years have passed, I’ve felt surer and surer about you, Crowley. And ever since Heaven and Hell left us to our own devices, it’s been so much easier to be sure. I’ve...” He blushed, head down. “Well. I’ve wanted to discover you in intimate settings for a _long_ time. But you’re right. I made a choice. And I... decided I was ready.”

Crowley smirked. “Thanksss for following through, then.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale pursed his lips, and leaned in for a soft kiss. “I should be thanking you.”

“For what?”

“For saying yes.”

Crowley opened his mouth. Of all the things he’d ever imagined, he failed to imagine a scenario where he’d ever say anything but yes to Aziraphale. He didn’t remember actually turning him down for anything in reality, not even once. Not even magic tricks, although he might complain.

“Saying yes? Angel, _that_,” Crowley said with a smile, “_That_ was what was inevitable.”

Aziraphale gazed at him. A question seemed to flit through his eyes, and then fly away. Crowley saw it go, and sat up straighter, alarmed.

Seeing Crowley’s interest, Aziraphale tentatively allowed the question to fly back to him and, for the sake of Crowley’s mental metaphor, the question perched on a branch.

“If,” Aziraphale said, “I were to ask for something... else. Ah— Another... logical progression, in a romantic relationship, some might say— It’s a very human thing, of course—”

“Yes,” Crowley whispered, body searing hotter than it had minutes ago. “Aziraphale, yes. Yes.” He grasped Aziraphale’s cheek and smooched him. “Yhmm.”

Aziraphale was released, a little stunned. “I didn’t ask.”

“Yes you did.”

“I did?”

“At dinner.” Crowley kissed him again. “I would’ve said yes then, too. But I didn’t wanna wait for you to meticulously plan a whole damn wedding before we made love.”

“Devilishly impatient of you,” Aziraphale said cheekily.

Crowley scoffed. “After six thousand years, angel, I’m not waiting another second for you. Not if you give me a choice. Have you here or take you away – guess which one I’ll pick.”

Aziraphale settled back against his pillow with a bright smile, a healthy flush on his cheeks, both hands clasped on his middle, one of Crowley’s snug between them. He sighed, absolutely content.

Crowley nosed towards the hotel’s bar cart. “Time for champagne?”

“Oh! Yes!” Aziraphale let go of Crowley and got out of bed, still naked. “Quite slipped my mind.”

As he got the champagne, untangled the metal muselet, then and readied the ice-cold punt of the bottle between his inner thighs to pull the cork, Crowley was treated to a gratuitous view of Aziraphale’s unclothed body, as the angel was so brazenly comfortable with being that way now, confident under Crowley’s loving, lustful gaze. Aziraphale was soft all over, and his pudgy middle wrinkled up a bit – and Crowley had never seen a more beautiful shape in all of human or celestial history. The majesty of the entire universe simply could not compare. On any other evening, the sight would’ve sent the blood out of Crowley’s head so fast he fainted. Tonight, he just smiled, tilting his head to look. Yellow snake eyes fell half-shut, lashes lowered in quiet appreciation.

“Blast this stubborn thing,” Aziraphale said, when he couldn’t open the bottle. He knelt on the bed and passed it hopefully to Crowley.

Crowley flicked a thumb and the cork jumped out politely with a pop, much like a surprised frog. Hissing white froth spilled from the lip of the bottle and ran down Crowley’s forearm; he hurriedly handed back the bottle, twisting his wrist and elbow to lick up the spill.

Aziraphale sat back against the headboard, watching Crowley lick his elbow.

Crowley remembered that humans couldn’t do that, and stopped.

Aziraphale took a sip straight from the bottle, foregoing the champagne flutes. He kept his eyes on Crowley, gulped, then passed him the bottle.

Crowley took it, smiling, and downed a long, bubbly swig. He coughed at the back of his throat, head down as he lowered the bottle – then snuggled up, right arm nudging up to Aziraphale’s left. After a moment, Crowley lay his cheek on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale took the bottle and drank again.

In an abrupt whoosh, Crowley remembered everything they’d said and done here in this room, and smiled widely. The smile stayed put, comfortable, but growing.

“Here,” Aziraphale said. He gave a soft sigh of, “_Aah_,” as he lifted the silver cloche from the cart, and set it on his lap, where the blankets were wrinkled but smooth over his thighs. He lifted the lid, and revealed a small collection of teeny-weeny cherry Bakewell tarts. These weren’t the sort with white icing bought in shops, but were crafted to perfection at Aziraphale’s request, all with the perfect red cherry on top.

“Want one?” Aziraphale asked, lifting a single shortcrust pastry in his fingers, offering it to Crowley. A dusting of icing sugar drifted down.

Crowley opened his mouth, tongue out flat.

Aziraphale placed it in, and it was even more heavenly than it had any right to be. The suppleness of sugar-moist almonds and the richness of fresh jam rushed Crowley’s palate with flavour and sensation, and he moaned softly, head bumping the wall over the bed, eyes shut. He chewed slowly, as there was no other way to chew a treat this dense.

Crowley peeked out at Aziraphale. He chewed, and chewed, and watched Aziraphale looking intrigued, then eager, then wanton, then downright desperate. He wanted to try a tart but was waiting for Crowley to feed it to him. So Crowley chewed a little slower, licking all the crumbs from his teeth, rolling the cocktail cherry over his tongue until it burst, all the while with a sly smirk on his lips.

And yet Aziraphale waited without getting frustrated, eyes lingering on Crowley’s lips as he breathed. Perhaps he was enjoying the anticipation. Even Crowley had to admit there was something tantalising about being made to wait.

Crowley washed the tart down with champagne, leaned in, kissed Aziraphale with tongue so he got a taste. They both moaned, relaxed and cuddly.

Then, finally, Crowley put the champagne on the bedside table, and took up a tartlet.

Aziraphale opened his mouth and shut his eyes, closing his soft lips around Crowley’s fingers. He sucked on his thumb as Crowley retrieved it without hurry, their darkened eyes meeting and holding on. Crowley was suddenly very aware he hadn’t cleaned his hands in any way at all between the sex and now, but then supposed, given how attractive this exchange felt, perhaps they were still making love, so it hardly mattered.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale a few times on the cheek, jaw, then his lips as he chewed.

They purred, caressing each other’s jaws, then resting their foreheads together, sharing breaths. Once Aziraphale swallowed, Crowley took him into another kiss, open-mouthed, licking and snatching another taste of his lover, and letting Aziraphale taste him in return.

“What do you think?” Crowley asked sneakily, grinning a little, one eyebrow crooked. “Expensive champagne and Maraschino cherries. Mm? Better than pickled fish and garlic bread?”

“Oh, good _Lord_, yes,” Aziraphale breathed, rolling his eyes. “I’m telling you, Crowley, if you’d had that for dinner I’d have walked myself home before dessert.”

Crowley cackled. “You wouldn’t have.”

Aziraphale harrumphed teasingly. “Care to test me tomorrow night? Find out exactly how serious I am.”

“Tomorrow?” Crowley’s heart leapt. “We’re doing this tomorrow too?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “We have to eat sometime, don’t we?”

Crowley opened his mouth. “Oh. Right. Actual dinner.”

Aziraphale cooed, lips pursed. He tucked a lock of Crowley’s hair behind his ear, stroking it twice more. “Crowley... Did you want to make love to me again, tomorrow?”

Crowley rolled a shoulder, then nodded. “Ihhhfff you want.”

Aziraphale kissed him. “I do.”

_I do._

Of course, those two words carried the echo of another promise they’d made tonight. Blazing satisfaction soothed and invigorated Crowley now, far better than the world’s bubbliest, most forty-two-degreed bath.

“Then,” Crowley said, “it’s a deal. Garlic bread can go to Hell.”

While Crowley snaked his arms around his beloved angel, Aziraphale shuffled in the bed just to hold him closer, nuzzling his neck, beaming like anything.

Crowley found a little more peace, there, in his angel’s warm embrace. It was a potent, and lasting serenity, which definitely wasn’t fading away anytime soon.

Six thousand years had been spent waiting for this.

It was worth the wait. Easily.

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

> ★ [reblog art](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/188939051705/whats-thisss-he-asked-appreciatively)  
★ [reblog opening lines](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/188939206235/tryst-at-the-ritz)  
★ [reblog summary](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/188939280190/tryst-at-the-ritz-117k-explicit-aziraphale)
> 
> ☆ [All my Crowley/Aziraphale fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi)  
☆ [All my Dean/Cas fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=5672&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi)  
☆ [All my Garak/Bashir fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=47360&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi) (a tiny collection which will be growing rapidly before the end of 2019, I'm gonna double up posting with the other aforementioned fandoms~)
> 
> ☆ [**Subscribe** for new fics in your inbox!!!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi) Wahoo~!!
> 
> Welp, that's the fic. I hope you had fun here! I definitely enjoyed this a lot. ♡♡♡  
Elmie x


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